Ankou
by Lokinne
Summary: (Post-1886, spoilers, no pairings) The book described the Ankou, 'whose name shall not be said out loud, because he could be listening', as a keeper of graveyards, a guardian of souls and the entity responsible of taking lost souls with him to the other side (...)'. That was basically, a Grim Reaper. Just not a regular one. (C) Yana Toboso.


The room was sunk in a quiet atmosphere, broken only when a distant clock gave the hour. The boy passed another page of the french volume he was reading, not because he was particularly fond of that language but because he needed to practice it. He heard the soft knocks on the wooden door marking his bedtime, but he kept reading, ignoring his butler the best he could. He knew it was late, he wasn't really tired and the last nights had been plagued by weird dreams, so the boy wanted to elude them as much as possible. Another page was flipped and he changed his position on the couch in front of the crackling fire, crossing one leg over another.

"Young Master, it's late." A voice called him behind the door, after all he hadn't replied nor allowed the butler to come in. The Earl held the book with one finger as a bookmark and looked over his shoulder to the closed door.

"I'm not tired, Sebastian. Come in thirty minutes, I'm busy reading."

"May I come in?"

The boy rolled his eyes. Of course, he couldn't just be dismissed away that easily. He looked into the fire, absent minded for a second.

"Go away and come back later." His voice came out harsher than he had intended, but he blamed it to the fact that it had been hours since he had talked. He resumed his lecture opening the book carefully and resting it on his crossed leg. Ciel waited until he heard the footsteps farther and farther from his office, and then he faced the fire again.

It was true that he was a huge fan of literary works, from poetry to prose, from classical greek authors to contemporary ones. He had a certain weakness for the folklore compendiums and collections, as well as other less-fictional works like detective novels. Despite having some chapters from Arthur waiting for him to read them and send the young writer a review, and among the hundreds of books kept in the family library, he had laid his hands on a not so old volume about Breton folklore written several years ago by a French vicomte. Ciel had started to read it out of boredom, because the language was a bit baroque for his taste, but now he was trying to focus to read one tale more before going to sleep. It didn't matter how long he tried to delay the dreaded time, he would have to face it sooner or later because he needed to sleep. The boy found the paragraph he had been reading before his butler meddling and resumed his lecture, calm again. As far as he had read, the book wasn't anything out of the norm, with the traditional stories about faes, forest creatures and such. He wouldn't say it out loud, but it was somehow amusing and uncomfortable at the same time to read about legends when he had just dismissed a _demon_. Thoughts like that one made him wonder how many of the things he was reading were mere imaginations from the villagers, or true stories disguised as old tales. He flipped another page and stared at the title, perplex.

"Ankou?" the boy whispered to himself, reading the title out loud. "This one is new."

The little illustration near the title depicted a skeleton in black robes holding a big scythe and guiding a crowd of souls, and it had piqued his curiosity. Soon he found himself swallowing a quarter of the story in a little time. It was nothing very outstanding, just a tale about three drunk men who had met an old man dressed in black riding a rickety cart, and they had decided to throw stones at him until they broke the pole, then they retreated laughing. Except for one man, who felt bad for the unknown traveler and offered a branch and his shoelaces to repair the piece, and then he left. The story concluded with the death of the two drunken friends the next day, and how the third never spoke of the event again and his hair turned white. Ciel chuckled softly when he readed that part, because he had read similar endings for a lot of tales. They always ended like that, the person who had helped the entity was pardoned, and the others were punished somehow. Often that meant they ended up _dead_. His blue orb followed the next paragraphs slower, and he frowned his eyebrows. The book described the Ankou, ' _whose name shall not be said out loud, because he could be listening', as a keeper of graveyards, a guardian of souls and the entity responsible of taking lost souls with him to the other side_ (...)'.

"Basically, a Grim Reaper…" whispered the young earl as he followed the lecture, more and more confused with each line. He had met several Grim Reapers in the short span of three years, but the book referred to the Ankou as a single being.

The description of it was what sent a shiver down his spine, causing his hands to tremble. The fire cracked and the boy jolted a little on his seat, nervous. He took a deep breath and dismissed the odd feeling as plain fatigue, he had spent most of the day signing documents and meeting with important salesmen about his company wealth. ' _The Ankou was described as a man of unknown age and white hair, whose face was covered by a huge broad-brimmed hat and covered in black robes. Welding a scythe, or as other people told having his shadow shaped as one, the Ankou roamed around highways and roads in a rickety cart pulled by one shabby horse, or two. Some sources say he was also accompanied by ghostly figures who helped him in his duty…'_. Ciel frowned deeply and closed the book, forgetting to mark the page on purpose. Another chill travelled down his spine and he sat right, staring into the dying fire to distract himself. Yes, the Ankou sounded like a Grim Reaper and he didn't like it at all. It was just a coincidence, some fact to laugh about it, or to be remembered as a notable fact. Like Finnian's name which was derived from a legend, too. But Finnian was the cheerful gardener of the Phantomhive state, and Ciel was fond of him even if he was too clumsy. Who the Ankou reminded him of was a totally different person, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to think about him.

"Young Master, now it's really late."

The boy looked at the door and sighed, stretching his limbs on his seat.

"Come in, I'm tired."

"Would you like to take a bath before going to sleep?"

Sebastian left the chandelier he was carrying on top of the table. Then he started to gather the books displayed around the table and put them back in their shelves, waiting for the boy to answer. His neat uniform whispered with each movement he did, filling the silence between the two of them. The fire cracked again and he turned around to the sitting boy, who was rubbing his eyelid with his fingers.

"No, not tonight. I just want to rest."

"As you wish, my Lord." His voice came out low and velvety and he tilted his head. He walked towards the door and held it open for the young boy. "I'll come later to extinguish the fire."

Ciel didn't reply and just walked outside the office with clumsy steps, still feeling an unsettling sensation in the pit of his stomach, and being unable to shake of the bad taste of the story. It was just a silly old tale, he reminded to himself, a mere coincidence. He blamed his fatigue again and entered his room when Sebastian opened the wooden panel in silence, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

"What's with that look, butler?" asked the boy as he stepped in the bedroom and sat on top of the mattress. He stretched his limbs and yawned covering his mouth with one hand. Meanwhile, Sebastian had closed the door behind him and had walked to the boy. Once he reached the bed he sank on one knee and started to undo the ties of the shoe placed on his lap.

"You look worried", replied the demon without looking away from the knot. The laces fell at the sides and he removed the shoe, and did the same with the other. "Is something troubling you?"

Ciel mused about that for some seconds, weighting if he should tell the butler about the childish source of his discomfort. He shrugged and stared back at Sebastian as he walked to the closet and came back with a neatly folded nightgown. His eyes landed on the folded cloth as the butler unbuttoned his shirt and he frowned.

"It's nothing important, I guess I'm just more tired than the usual."

"You shouldn't over strive, Young Master."

"You know I can't just put the work away and take a rest day, Sebastian. Specially these days when I'm busy all the time."

"Pardon me then."

He kept undressing the boy in silence and left the clothes folded on top of the bed. Ciel lifted up his arms and sighed when the nightgown fell over his figure, relieved. The boy wasn't comfortable with anyone seeing him without any clothes on, but his personal butler was the exception -just because he had to dress and undress him every day-. He crawled under the soft sheets and rested his head on the feather pillow, following the demon with his azure eye as he placed the clothes back in the dressing room. When Sebastian returned to the bed, Ciel sat on the mattress and waited for him to remove his eyepatch and rings, which he left carefully on top of the side table near a silver chandelier. The earl looked down and let out another sigh before he turned his back to the raven haired butler. The demon said nothing and picked the candle-holder, turning on his heels and heading to the door. As he walked away, the room was covered with darkness, broken only by a dim ray of moonlight coming from the window between the curtains. Ciel laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the sleep to come.

At first he didn't know what time it was. Had he managed to sleep _at all_ , or had he been sleeping in short spawns between weird dreams and nightmares? He couldn't tell. The boy kept his eyelids closed and took a deep breath from his nose, trying to calm himself. It was just a dream, and dreams were just products of someone's imagination. They were _harmless_. So, when he heard some footsteps growing closer to his bed, he assumed he was still asleep. Or it was Sebastian waiting to tell him something stupid, no matter how many times he had stated he didn't want to be disturbed during his sleep unless it was a really important matter. He opened his eyes a bit and looked around, but the room was still dark and the cold light coming from the window just gave it an eerie aura. The earl closed his eyes again and breathed from his mouth. He didn't remember exactly if he had told Finnian to plant lilies, but the window was open and a little breeze ran around the manor carrying a scent of flowers and removed soil. It had been just his imagination, that time between sleep and vigil when everything seemed unreal. Soon the boy fell in a light sleep again, and he waited.

The next time he woke up he had no sense of time at all. In a first, sleepy gaze around, it didn't even look like his room. There were the footsteps again, the creak of the wooden tables of the floor until whoever it was stopped. The mattress sank under someone's weight but he didn't care at all, being still half asleep. Was it morning already or was he sleeping again? He frowned when he felt something against his cheek, but he didn't brush it off.

"Earl."

The boy let out a quiet whine. He was tired, so tired… But whoever it was caressed his arm, nothing more than a ghostly touch, waking him up a little more. He felt a cold glass against his lips and parted them, guided by another hand. It tasted cold and too bitter, but the hand held his mouth closed until he swallowed the liquid without a reply, and then caressed his cheek in an affectionate gesture. The boy dared to open his eyes, concerned but too sleepy to move, too tired to be fully aware of his surroundings. Someone took his arm and groped the skin looking for a vein, then pressed it gently.

"Is it morning yet?" Ciel mumbled, rubbing his eyelids with the back of his free hand as he stared at the shadow hovering over him. Sebastian? No… The demon didn't called him _Earl_. He catched a glimpse of green and he blinked, more confused than before but unable to move properly. The slender fingers kept checking his pulse and ghosting over his skin, slowly.

"No. Not yet."

His arm fell on the sheets and he closed his eyes breathing softly. He was about to open them again, but a hand rested on his face, covering his eyes and his forehead, brushing away some sweaty locks. His mouth was still filled with bitterness, but it started to disappear and was replaced by a light dizziness.

"Sleep just a little longer. It's still too early for you to wake up..."


End file.
